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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713666">Ice Cream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya'>fauxilya</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>19th Century CE RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ok that's a bad joke, TW: Suicide, The author has no idea how to write kissing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:21:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Clay was sick at home. Then he received a not-so-mysterious phone call.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Clay/John C. Calhoun, John C. Calhoun &amp; Henry Clay Sr.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ice Cream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="page-body">
  <p class="">Henry Clay felt like he was going to fucking die the next second.</p>
  <p class="">He felt his consciousness was being crushed like bits of dust being swept up by a rumbling vacuum cleaner and sucked into a spinning black hole, and he was powerless to resist. He inhaled painfully and immediately it was as if a marching band was beating a gong under his temple and the harsh notes of the trumpet were blowing his eyeballs out of their sockets. He rubbed the tip of his cold nose and bit the insides of his cheek in a vicious attempt to shift the base of the pain, curling deeper under the blanket.</p>
  <p class="">He shouldn't have put off his paper until the last hour before the deadline and made the heroic decision to walk to the kitchen, still in his socks, and pull open the refrigerator door and retrieve from the second shelf a row of Red Bulls, then downed three cans of that taurine-rich beverage in his daze.</p>
  <p class="">At least he turned in his paper at 2:59 am. An entire break-down on the legality of Aaron Burr's actions, a recent murder suspect, that breezed past the 2,500 word limit. He even referred to theBill of Rights. Nobody <em>remembers </em>the Bill of Rights.</p>
  <p class="">Prof. Jefferson's Law class is in third period; he also teaches AP Lang and freshman History, as well as prep class Art, so the students have gotten to know him pretty well. Henry Clay would love to fly back to school right now and sit in his usual seat, next to Mr. Monroe the TA, and raise his hand to answer every one of the professor's questions. But one look from Mrs. Clay-Watkins sent him back to bed with his head down. Stars immediately exploded in his visual field, like fireworks.</p>
  <p class="">A vibration in the palm of his hand nearly made him jump, and Clay pushed the blanket back, trying to refocus his eyes on the scene in front of him. Oh, he'd forgotten he was still holding his phone like his life depended on it. It had developed into a habit by now. As president of the Debate Club as well as the MUN Club, and Leader of the Whig fraternity (better known as the Fuck Jackson Club, as Daniel Webster had said), he could not have received fewer late-night calls and messages than the U.S. president himself. Although half of them were simply Quincy Adams (again) looking for trouble, until he blocked his number and, as a unintended but happy consequence, relieved the social crisis that had been hanging over him since the last student government election.</p>
  <p class="">There was something familiar about the string of numbers flashing on the screen, but Clay's brain didn't have the energy to dig it up from the depth of his memory at the moment; since he'd not given them a contact name, it could just be one of his acquaintances, which meant there was no point in calling them by their first names as soon as the line came through. "Hello, this is Henry Clay. Can I help you? "</p>
  <p class="">Maybe it was one of his admirers, one of those nosy girls who had gotten his new number from somewhere.</p>
  <p class="">"Clay," the raspy voice caused his hand to freeze right next to his ear, "I need a favor—"</p>
  <p class="">"John?"</p>
  <p class="">There was a second of silence on the other side of the phone. "Yeah, it's me. Look, I know I shouldn't be calling you at this time, I mean, I think it's break time, but you'd probably just hang up if you knew it was me, but I really need—"</p>
  <p class="">"Whatever it is you need help with, " Clay said sincerely. the tension in Calhoun's tone softened him; he couldn't say no to his former friend. "Shoot. "</p>
  <p class="">God, he even wanted to take back the harsh words he'd said a few weeks ago. He was school-renowned for his impulsiveness, witg Marshall and Randolph still going around claiming that he'd left them with PTSD, but it was clear to everyone that Clay was a pacifist and never made enemies if he could help it. Well, except for Jackson, but that's because the guy keeps provoking him in every way, causing a new round of resentment to start every time his anger towards the guy was just about to subside.</p>
  <p class="">"I'm on leave today and we took the same classes, can you help bring me my homework? Please, you know I don't want other people who didn't know coming to my house...you can hang up right now if you don't want to bother. Just pretend I never called you." Calhoun's volume got lower and lower, eventually becoming no louder than a whisper.</p>
  <p class="">Clay could imagine the look on the other boy's face as he held his breath, waiting for his reply. An untimely poof of laughter escaped his chest.</p>
  <p class="">"Don't get me wrong, man, of course I'd help you. If I could. " He pointed to his head as if he were having a face-to-face conversation, then immediately realized how stupid it was to do so and couldn't help but laugh even louder. "Here's the problem - I've been absent, too. Headache."</p>
  <p class="">"Oh. Okay." There was a pause on the other end of the line, "I'll hang up then. Sorry."</p>
  <p class="">"Wait, are you okay? What's wrong?"</p>
  <p class="">"Personal reasons. Can't talk about it." Calhoun replied vague. Then, he forced out, for the sake of politeness,  "are you feeling better?"</p>
  <p class="">Clay nodded, then suddenly remembered that the other couldn't see him, and added a hasty "Uh-huh". "Are you sure you're okay?"</p>
  <p class="">"I'm fine. Not like it's your business." The only sound that followed was the beep of a busy line.</p>
  <p class="">No, he's not fine. Clay decided in his mind. They had shared a room for three days when they went to a debate tournament together, and had been friends since for another school year, enough to make him one of the few people Calhoun allowed into his life.</p>
  <p class="">He thought about it for a moment and made his second heroic decision of the day since the wee hours of the morning.</p>
  <p class="">"Mom, I want to take a walk outside. You know, get some fresh air."</p>
  <hr/>
  <p class="">After a bit of messing around, Clay stood shivering in front of the Calhouns’ house, wrapping his coat tightly around him. The walk over should have taken only five minutes, if he hadn't gotten so damn cold that he had to return home to fetch his winterwears. <em>Some fresh air indeed</em>, he thought to himself, puffing into his palms again and tugging on his beanie.</p>
  <p class="">Well, the house wasn’t technically Calhoun’s. This piece of information was exclusive to Clay; Calhoun was ashamed to let the rich kids at their private school know what happened to his family. His father's illness worsening, the rent of their previous apartment soon to expire, Calhoun was left indefinitely dependent on his cousins to continue his education. Clay swore to Calhoun that he would not tell anyone about his family's situation, but he told his parents in trying to convince another boy to accept his help. Calhoun lashed out so bad when he heard about it; as a result, they could no longer walk home from school together, do lab together in AP Chemistry, or sneak out on Sundays to find the ice cream truck. Clay even heard from Webster that Calhoun had privately called him a "creator of wicked schemes" to Seager.</p>
  <p class="">His headache started again.</p>
  <p class="">The door bounced open with a bang, and Clay took a few steps backward, caught off guard. A girl who looked no more than fifteen stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, a expensive-looking cashmere sweater thrown over her shoulders, brown eyes wide as she looked Clay up and down. He did have a vague recollection of Calhoun mentioning that he had a cousin sister—what was her name, Florence?—That was before he had to live with her family.</p>
  <p class="">"You here for?" She straightened her back as she sized Clay up.</p>
  <p class="">Clay responded with what he thought was a charming smile.</p>
  <p class="">"I'm John's classmate, and I brought his homework." He brandished the folder in his hand. He had stuffed in a couple of SAT practice tests as cover up. Calhoun had no trouble getting a perfect score on any of those tests, of which he was more than a little jealous.</p>
  <p class="">The girl was surprisingly not impressed by the uninvited guest's thousand-watt smile, instead furrowing her brows. "John never invites people to our house. You're lying."</p>
  <p class="">Clay was momentarily struck speechless. "You could ask him?" He mentally kicked himself—there was no way Calhoun would let him in. The trip to his house would be a wasted attempt, and Calhoun would see him as even more a pathetic asshole and stalker.</p>
  <p class="">He bit his tongue, already regretting his impulse.</p>
  <p class="">The girl's gaze briefly wandered to the second floor. "He locked the door." Her everything-is-under-control demeanor was slightly flushed, if only for a moment. "You can leave his homework here, he’ll come down here to get it when he, um, gets better."</p>
  <p class="">"No! " Clay went up a few steps, a puff of warm air from inside hitting him straight in the face. "Please, Florence, I'm John's boyfriend, best kind of, so he told me what's going on. He didn't want me to come over, but I was really worried about him. I just need to make sure he’s alright. In person. "</p>
  <p class="">Well—that certainly wasn't planned. A mere verbal lapse. He hoped Calhoun had been open about his sexuality to the family, otherwise the other boy might never forgive him again.</p>
  <p class="">Clay fixed the brunette with a pleading stare, almost choking out a few tears.</p>
  <p class="">"...‘s Floride," she shot him a suspicious glare(are scary eyes genetically explainable, Clay wondered). Then, she said slowly, "You're so clingy. If I were John, I'd have dumped you a long time ago."</p>
  <p class="">With that, she moved out of the way and gestured for Clay to enter the house. He gave her a grateful glance, but Floride only reminded him coldly to change out of his shoes.</p>
  <p class="">"Second floor, third room to the left." She instructed, "Don't tell him I let you in."</p>
  <hr/>
  <p class="">Clay lifted his hand and knocked hesitantly on the door.</p>
  <p class="">"John, it's me. I brought you the homework." He should have thought of a better excuse or actually made his trip to school, but he didn't want to walk around the thousand-people campus with limbs sheepish and head dizzy.</p>
  <p class="">"John? " he asked, knocking a little louder.</p>
  <p class="">"Go away. " A muffled response.</p>
  <p class="">"Homework. " Clay put an emphasis to his words, "Aaaaand...I came with ice cream."</p>
  <p class="">That was true; he'd snuck two boxes of sundaes in his bag under Elizabeth's eyes. People who thought ice cream was a summer-only treat didn't know what they had missed.</p>
  <p class="">There was some momentary noises. Then, Calhoun appeared in the doorway, black hair a mess, with heavy bags hanging under his eyes. "I thought told you not to bother, Clay. You should be at home nursing your headache. "</p>
  <p class="">The way the other boy referred to his last name made Clay shifted slightly on his spot. "I felt better. "He explained patiently, "May I come in?"</p>
  <p class="">Calhoun put on his signature stare. "Why—"</p>
  <p class="">"Because I’m curious what emo teenage rock stars do with their rooms," he blurted out, "Where did you buy that eyeshadow? How come you became one leather jacket away from the Grammys in a day?"</p>
  <p class="">Then, without warning, he squeezed himself into the room, still grunting a few jokes about electric guitars and mousse.</p>
  <p class="">"Damn it, Clay, you—"</p>
  <p class="">
    <em>Oh my god.</em>
  </p>
  <p class="">The swivel chair had apparently been kicked into a corner of the room. Scraps of paper and stationery were strewn all over the desk. A glass of water had been knocked over on the floor, pieces of broken glass lying nearby. A familiar old Mac was abandoned on top of the messy bed, its screen blindingly bright, the open webpage bearing a giant headline in bold.</p>
  <p></p>
  <blockquote>
    <p class="">
      <strong>Vice President Calhoun Earns Mark on Record for Verbal Attack</strong>
    </p>
    <p class="">
      <em> <strong>John Clayton</strong> </em>
    </p>
  </blockquote>
  <p class="">Clay wanted to say, <em>"Jackson is just taking his breakup out on you. Principal Washington won't ever listen to his whining. "</em></p>
  <p class="">What he actually says out loud is, "Shit, I’ve gotta kill Jackson. "</p>
  <p class="">Calhoun appeared behind him and grabbed at his computer. "This is my private property, you’ve no right to seize it. "He gestured around the stormed room, "actually, you shouldn't be here. At all. So get out."</p>
  <p class="">"That's all propaganda stuff, no need to worry. "</p>
  <p class="">"You don't know anything." Calhoun pushed him towards the door, and repeated with more force, "Get out. You are intruding. "</p>
  <p class="">They were silent for a while. The gears in Clay's groggy mind began to spin, seeking a way out of this impasse. Unknowingly, he lifted a hand to his forehead. Too hot. Fuck if he caught a fever. "I know Jackson's a fool, and Clayton tends to be overdramatic, and that's enough. You don't have to lose sleep over this. "</p>
  <p class="">He pulled over the swivel chair and took a seat for himself, just like before. Calhoun huffed out a heavy sigh, but sat down on the bed across from him nonetheless, dropping his eyes to the water stains on the ground.</p>
  <p class="">"I can help you, you know. " Clay’s tone was gentle.</p>
  <p class="">"...took away my trust fund. "</p>
  <p class="">"What? "</p>
  <p class="">"My uncle saw that article, okay? "Calhoun said impatiently, his voice trembling on the edges, "He's threatened to keep me out of school now. That's all. "</p>
  <p class="">Clay followed his gaze and found—bottles. Two of them, scattered in the corner. Presumably holding sleeping pills, the kind he knew Calhoun’s dad used to take when he had insomnia due to his treatments.</p>
  <p class="">"Oh god. "He breathed out a shocked whisper, quickly rushing over to pick them up. One was empty save for the last few ones, the other unopened.</p>
  <p class="">"No worries.I've just been back from the hospital this morning. "Calhoun said behind him, a feigned lightness in his voice, "That wasn't a wise move, I know, and I regret it. But I couldn't get more jobs, and I didn't want to go to those cheap, low expectation schools—"he draws a sharp breath, cutting himself off. "Once I had an idea, I had to put it into action. I can't even talk myself out of it, see. "</p>
  <p class="">A sarcastic, bitter laugh.</p>
  <p class="">Clay turned around. His chest was tight, he was having difficulty breathing, and his hands were cold as stone.</p>
  <p class="">"Oh my god, "he repeated, "you should have told me."</p>
  <p class="">"I thought 'we separate forever'. "</p>
  <p class="">"I didn’t mean it! " Clay slammed the pill bottle down on the desk, hard. "Oh my god— you almost—and I—"</p>
  <p class="">"It's not that bad. " Calhoun managed a smile. "I figured I'd drop out of school in a couple of days, then go back to South Carolina and work on my dad’s farm to pay his debts. I have a driver’s license, and it’s close to my 18th birthday, anyways. "</p>
  <p class="">"No, absolutely not! "Clay practically screamed at him, "You're going to keep coming to school, then you are going to Yale, I’m gonna ruin that bastard Jackson's reputation so bad he can never hold his head up in school again—"</p>
  <p class="">"What's the use of that now, Clay? "Calhoun's eyes were clear as water as he looked at his companion, "I don't need your pity. You hate me enough to throw a party if I disappear tomorrow. "</p>
  <p class="">"You know that's not true! "Clay wiped his eyes fiercely with the back of his hand, "I-I've only ever wanted to help you, because I don't want to see you being pushed around by these assholes for the rest of your life. My stepfather is a human rights lawyer, and this—this is child abuse—"</p>
  <p class="">"Actually this isn’t, "Calhoun interrupted, "being my legal guardians means they only need to keep me from dying, not pay for my education at a prestigious private school. I would drop out of school voluntarily."</p>
  <p class="">Clay hung his head. "It’s not fair. "He muttered, "But you shouldn't give up on yourself so easily. Scholarships, student loans, there's always a way. "</p>
  <p class="">He didn't say: I can convince my parents to lend you however much you need. Calhoun would sooner die than accept financial help from others, unless he was forced to, as was the case at hand. He knew well of his stubbornness.</p>
  <p class="">Calhoun shook his head with an empty expression on his face.</p>
  <p class="">"Why are you so insistent that I continue my studies?" He said softly, "I've made enemies everywhere in school. Even you hate me with a passion. Floride's going to be in high school next year, and then everyone's going to be pointing at me and saying, 'Look, here comes the bitch’s cousin.'"</p>
  <p class="">Clay felt a lump in his throat. "I don't hate you," he struggled to respond, "I hate that you torture your self, I hate that you're easily despaired, I hate that you won't let me help you. But I don't hate you. "</p>
  <p class="">The words rang true.</p>
  <p class="">"John," he said quietly, his voice fading into a whisper, almost imploring.</p>
  <p class="">"Get out. I already told you too much."</p>
  <p class="">"I miss walking home with you after school. "Clay blurted out. "I miss movie nights and popcorn. I miss being your partner in debate. I miss study together, even though most of the time we were cussing about the Brits and Jackson's gang. I miss playing Assassin’s Creed together, and you played it so well I couldn't keep up with your record—" he saw the corners of John's mouth turn up. "John. I miss being friends with you every day. "</p>
  <p class="">
    <em>I...miss you.</em>
  </p>
  <p class="">There was no reply from the other boy for a long time. Clay looked up tentatively, only to find his former friend's curled in on himself, his body trembling uncontrollably, his hands pressed tightly to his face.</p>
  <p class="">"Oh, John, "he sighed, jumping off the swivel chair and pulling Calhoun into a somewhat awkward hug, his chin pressed against the dark hair soaking with cold sweat. "It'll work out, I promise."</p>
  <p class="">Silence.</p>
  <p class="">"I miss you, too."</p>
  <p class="">Clay's hand, which was awkwardly patting Calhoun's back, stopped abruptly. "Really?" He asked stupidly.</p>
  <p class="">Calhoun pulled back from the hug, a serious look in his red-rimmed eyes, "really. "</p>
  <p class="">Clay’s heart clenched with a sudden emotion, and his left eye hurt like crazy, as if urging him to do something. He was driven forward by a force of nature, his hands unconsciously wandering up the side of John's face, thumbs rubbing the other boy’s pale skin.</p>
  <p class="">Then he kissed him.</p>
  <p class="">Clay kissed his hair, the corner of his forehead, his nose and cheeks, and finally his dry, bloodless lips. Just a gentle peck; then, he reluctantly took a step back, waiting nervously for the other boy’s reaction.</p>
  <p class=""><em>Oh, he'd screwed up,</em> Clay's internal sirens went off. <em>He had one chance to bridge this friendship, but he'd crushed it out of greed. Among all of his attempts to make a compromise, he screwed up in this one alone. He crossed a line.</em></p>
  <p class="">But Calhoun didn't give him time to think twice; abruptly, he lunged forward and kissed Clay back.</p>
  <p class="">This kiss was long and passionate. Neither was willing to give in to each other, the kiss escalating slowly as either fought for dominance. They were inexperienced; Calhoun's notorious coldness was an obvious turn-off, and Clay's only experience was with Lucretia. Their noses and teeth clashed, and no one knew which one of them giggled out loud, but it didn't stop them in any way. Clay carded his fingers through the other boy’s dark hair, which was much softer than it looked, and pulled him closer.</p>
  <p class="">And yet, closer.</p>
  <p class="">"So does that mean you agree to go out with me? "Clay asked with a smile when they finally separated, one hand slipping out of Calhoun's hair and sliding towards the back of his neck. The other boy swallowed, then nodded with force.</p>
  <p class="">Clay looked into the other boy's bright eyes, unblinking, as he unzipped the bag he brought with a grin.</p>
  <p class="">"So, how does ice cream sound for a first date? "</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The fic is partly based on real life lol.<br/>Dont. Drink. Three. Red. Bulls. In. One. Go.<br/>The phone call in the beginning really happened between a friend and me. I worry about her but our homes aren't very close, so I can only hope she's okay &amp; isn't having family problems.<br/>Anyways i hope y'all enjoyed this. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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